


The Diary

by Manniness



Category: Alice in Wonderland (2010)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-09
Updated: 2010-10-09
Packaged: 2017-10-12 13:13:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/125188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Manniness/pseuds/Manniness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After borrowing the Hatter's very naughty pocket watch, Alice discovers that one naughty thought only leads to more of the same.</p><p>Inspired by Wanderamaranth's <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/collections/The_Pocketwatch/works/125438">"The Pocketwatch"</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Diary

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings:** References to erotic art, naughty thoughts,  & naughty writing
> 
>  **Notes:** The erotic art that Alice is thinking about throughout this is of a couple, erm, copulating on horseback as they ride through the countryside. It's this image that Alice discovers on the face of the Hatter's pocket watch (with the actual watch face itself set beneath the scene).

  
Alice spent a week with the Hatter’s pocket watch.

  
She – consequently – had spent that week in the company of many thoughts of the Hatter.

  
  
And, as deliciously pleasant as that had been, she had    
  
_  
not    
_   
  
spent the week with the Hatter himself.   


  
More’s the pity.

  
  
It had been such a sinful pleasure: ducking guiltily behind draperies and stepping briefly into empty rooms and cuddling beneath the covers of her bed for the sole purpose of    
  
_  
watching   
_   
  
the animated couple on his pocket watch. Of watching and    
  
_  
imagining   
_   
  
and    
  
_  
**wondering...**   
_

  
  
The horse she could definitely do without. And despite the fresh air of the countryside scene, Alice is quite sure she’d rather... investigate this sort of activity in Privacy. Well, should she    
  
_  
wish    
_   
  
to investigate it, that is.   


  
  
Yet, even with that point undecided, she can’t help but wonder...    
  
_  
Would   
_   
  
the Hatter mind... assisting her with that very practical research?   


  
  
The thought    
  
_  
consumes   
_   
  
her mind. So totally in fact that, when the opportunity presents itself, she must    
  
_  
force    
_   
  
herself to return his pocket watch to him, with a complimentary buttering, at tea.   


  
Thackery twitches and coughs a bit, seeing the exchange.

  
  
“Time’s of the essence!” he asserts. “Aye, the very    
  
_  
essence   
_   
  
o’ a man an’ a woman!”   


  
  
The Hatter tucks the watch away hastily, blushing nearly as brightly as Alice is sure    
  
_  
she    
_   
  
must be at that very moment. “Yes, yes,” he lisps. “Time is of the essence for    
  
_  
everyone!   
_   
  
Mally, if you’re quite ready to launch that sugar cube...?”   


  
Alice plays her part as well: “Thackery, you’ve run out of tea.”

  
“Och!” he exclaims, noticing his predicament, and she grabs the nearest pot and pours for him.

  
“Cream?” she inquires solicitously.

  
“No, no! It’s gone off!” Thackery declares, eyeing the tiny pitcher warily.

  
“How can he say it’s gone off? It’s not gone nowhere,” Tweedledee says to the table in general.

  
  
“Just so,” Tweedledum replies. “If I had to say it was anywheres at all, I’d say it had gone    
  
_  
in   
_   
  
.”   


  
  
“An’ if he puts it in his tea, it will most definitely have gone    
  
_  
in.   
_   
  
”   


  
  
“So it wouldn’t be    
  
_  
off    
_   
  
no more.”   


  
“Yes, I believe that’s so. Innit, Thackery?”

  
  
As Thackery lectures them on their errorsome logic, Alice lets out the breath she’d been holding. Seated beside her, the Hatter does likewise. She glances at him and he at her and their eyes meet and tiny smiles curve their lips and she finds herself Wondering... about    
  
_  
that   
_   
  
... again.   


  
  
She looks away first, her blush deepening as her mind plays out the scenario on the face of his pocket watch for her... without the horse, of course – obliging or not, she holds firm to    
  
_  
that   
_   
  
conviction! – and in the privacy of a comfortable room...   


  
  
Alice imagines the Hatter with his trousers open and pushed down his hips, imagines his bandaged hands on her bare thighs, his breath against the back of her neck and stirring her hair (as it had a week ago when she had first looked at his watch... and she very nearly swoons at the memory – why he had been pressed against her just    
  
_  
so,    
_   
  
just like the couple on the watch face and...) she imagines his flesh meeting hers, him moving inside her and—   


  
“Alice, are you all right?” Mally says rather loudly.

  
  
“Oh, oh. Yes. Fine. I was just thinking about... the time.” She doesn’t pay much attention to her own words until her seatmate – the Hatter – sputters in his teacup and Thackery cackles with mad glee. The March Hare pulls at his ears and the Hatter    
  
_  
looks   
_   
  
at her, his green eyes searching...   


  
That gaze is nearly a touch. Like a puff of breath against her ear, like his warm hand on her bare skin, like...

  
“If you’ll excuse me, I... I have... I have things to do,” Alice says and scrambles up from her chair, knocking her knee against the table leg but not noticing anything other than the sound it makes. She fairly runs back to her room and slams the door shut behind her.

  
  
The thoughts, however, follow her. She struggles to put them aside, to think of something else, of hats –    
  
_  
no!   
_   
  
– of tea –    
  
_  
No!   
_   
  
– of long walks in the countryside –    
  
_  
NO!   
_

  
  
Eventually, Alice realizes there is only one thing to be done about    
  
_  
those thoughts   
_   
  
which refuse to leave her be.   


  
They must be exorcised.

  
She strides over to her writing desk and draws out her diary. She inks her pen and begins scribbling. She writes every thought as it comes and come they do. They come out of her degenerate mind and go onto the pristine paper. White paper and black-as-sin ink.

  
She shivers.

  
  
The Hatter must    
  
_  
never    
_   
  
know about these scribbles of hers. Never. He must never know the thoughts she had just entertained of him. But the image of him and their bare flesh coming together and his soft moans – would he make noises similar to the ones he’d breathily uttered in the workshop last week? She had    
  
_  
very    
_   
  
much liked those... although perhaps only in retrospect can she appreciate them. What if she had appreciated them in a    
  
_  
timely   
_   
  
manner last week? At the time they had occurred? Oh, what a wretched relationship she has with Time! Always late – and what    
  
_  
might   
_   
  
have happened in the workshop had she possessed the wits to respond?   


  
  
She writes that moment. That impossible past. She writes it as it    
  
_  
might    
_   
  
have happened if she had pressed back against him, pulled his arm more firmly around her, leaned her head back against his shoulder...   


  
  
And even after she has written it, read it, endured the tingling, tightening, tantalizing agony of her body’s response to her vivid – if incomplete and unresearched – imaginings, those    
  
_  
thoughts   
_   
  
do not leave her. She tears out the pages she had defaced with wanton ideas and throws them into the fire, watches them burn.   


  
It doesn’t help.

  
  
But she does not know what else to do. Propositioning him – her    
  
_  
friend!   
_   
  
– is out of the question. This    
  
_  
desire   
_   
  
is out of the question.   


  
Completely. Completely Out of the Question!

  
Out...

  
And in...

  
Out...

  
And...

  
She covers her face with her hands as the ticking of the wall clock and her own thoughts conspire against her. She is surrounded. Cornered.

  
  
Perhaps it is that desperation which leads her to be so abysmally foolish. She begins carrying her diary with her everywhere she goes. She ducks behind draperies and steps briefly into empty rooms to scribble when her sensuous, salacious thoughts become    
  
_  
too much   
_   
  
. She always tears out the pages and burns them. Always. And before another week is out she has left powdery ash in nearly every public and semi-public hearth in the castle.   


  
  
All except one. And she’s fairly sure it would be a very    
  
_  
bad idea   
_   
  
, indeed, to dare to write about    
  
_  
him   
_   
  
and    
  
_  
her   
_   
  
in his unwitting presence.   


  
Yes. Very bad. Foolish. Undeniably so.

  
  
Which is perhaps    
  
_  
why   
_   
  
the idea is unrelenting.   


  
It takes very little prompting for her to give into it once the idea has introduced itself properly and whispered its decadent promises in her ear:

  
  
  
_  
  
Just once more. And then you   
_   
  
’   
  
_  
ll be cured of this. The Hatter will never know...   
_

  
And so she once again finds herself curled up on chaise in the corner of the workshop. The Hatter had welcomed her back, looking overjoyed and relieved and had very nearly tripped over his own booted toes to clear a space for her to rest amongst the chaos.

  
  
“I’m sorry I haven’t been by recently,” she tells him even though he hadn’t asked. And she    
  
_  
is    
_   
  
sorry. She has missed him. And she damns this fascination of hers with his skin and his touch and... Yes, if she can only be rid of    
  
_  
these thoughts   
_   
  
then everything will be fine again!   


  
The Hatter waves away her apology. “No need for that, Alice. None at all. I’m very pleased with whatever time you make for me.”

  
Time...

  
Make...

  
  
Make    
  
_  
time...   
_   
  
Mark time by making...   


  
In... and out... in... and out...

  
  
Alice blinks and    
  
_  
forces   
_   
  
herself to    
  
  
**stop**   
  
  
thinking it.   


  
He clears his throat awkwardly. “Yes. Well. Please make yourself comfortable, Alice. I’ll be with you in just a few moments. I’m afraid I’m at a rather delicate stage of things just now and this billycock requires my attention.”

  
  
  
_  
  
Make yourself comfortable, Alice...   
_

  
  
  
_  
  
In just a few moments...   
_

_  
A rather delicate..._

 _  
Billycock requires my attention._

  
“That’s fine,” she manages and the moment his back is turned she flips open her nearly empty-of-pages diary and begins scribbling furiously. The words pour out and the scene takes shape in the ash-colored lines of her handwriting.

  
  
  
_  
  
His hands were warm and rough against her bare knee. He gently urged her thighs to part for his inquisitive touch, to make way, to yield to his path. He ventured forth, deeper into the shadows of her skirts and flesh until his bandaged fingertips – hatter fingertips – came upon a patch of dewy foliage where they rested, hesitated.   
_

_  
  
His breath stirred her hair and tickled her neck. He was so very near and yet still too distant for her liking. Knowing she shouldn   
_   
  
’   
  
_  
t but unable not to, she shifted against him. Against her dew-soaked grasses, his fingertips pressed more insistently, seeking the entrance to her hidden garden.   
_

_  
She was gasping, bursting with the need to say his name, to hear him whisper her own into her ear. If only he would turn her to face him so that she might look into the glowing, mossy green of his eyes as he moaned needfully, “Ali—”_

  
“Alice?”

  
She startles and the charcoal pencil pinched in her fingers snaps in two.

  
Alice looks up, breathing heavily, her heart pounding. He stands with the – perhaps – finished hat in his hands, his jaw agape.

  
  
Yes, she probably looks like a right    
  
_  
fool   
_   
  
. And why wouldn’t she? She    
  
_  
has    
_   
  
made a fool of herself in coming here, has she not?   


  
  
  
_  
  
Enough of this!   
_   
  
she decides. Enough thoughts, enough scribbles. Enough!   


  
  
She pushes herself to her feet and marches toward the hearth. This diary will be the death of her. She must stop this nonsense    
  
_  
right   
_   
  
  
  
_  
now!   
_

  
There’s a slight clatter behind her but she doesn’t pay it any mind. She’s watching the flames as they burn and lick at the logs in the grate. She’s lifting the book to toss it among them. She’s...

  
… no longer holding it.

  
She blinks, turns, and gasps as the Hatter holds it in his beautifully work-abused fingers. “What’s this?”

  
  
“It’s a diary,” she replies, swallowing back her fear. Dear Lord, if he    
  
_  
opens    
_   
  
that book...   


  
  
She closes her eyes briefly as the image of his fingers sliding between the smooth pages and    
  
_  
caressing   
_   
  
the book open overwhelms her.   


  
  
“Is this    
  
_  
your   
_   
  
diary?”   


  
“Yes. Please return it, Hatta.”

  
His blazing brows draw together in a thoughtful frown. “Are you intending to put this poor object out of its misery, then?” He caresses the damaged spine and fingers the tattered remains of the pages she had torn out, one by one, and burnt. “Whatever did it do to deserve a death sentence?”

  
Many things, but Alice cannot list them.

  
She holds out her hand. “Please, just give it back to me.”

  
  
“In a moment,” he replies and she watches – horrified – as he takes a step back. His grin is not one she has ever seen him wear before and it sends her heart racing. Oh, that    
  
_  
look   
_   
  
. “I do believe I owe    
  
_  
you    
_   
  
for a bit of unwarranted prying!” he replies in a tone that he had probably intended to be merely playful and not...    
  
_  
more.   
_

  
Alice stares at him, lost in that knowing, sensual look.

  
And then those distractingly stained and scarred fingers flip open the cover of her journal.

  
“No!” She finds her will to move then, lurches toward him. But she is already too late. As usual. For it appears that the Hatter can read just as quickly as he can sew... which is quite speedily, indeed.

  
She grabs the journal with one hand and his wrist with the other, trying to separate the two, but he holds on. Tightly.

  
“This is... You... I mean... Well, yes, I know what this is,” he says and he appears completely unaware of the echoing quality of his words. Not so long ago, Alice had sputtered in just that manner over his deliciously lewd pocket watch. “Alice?”

  
She tugs at the journal. It bends and crinkles but he doesn’t let it go.

  
  
“It’s just a thought,” she tries to explain. “A thought I shouldn’t be having. I would    
  
_  
never    
_   
  
think something like this if I were... well. I am    
  
_  
not    
_   
  
well, you see, and this is... I’m attempting to...”   


  
“Hatter’s fingers?” he asks, pulling the journal and her, closer to his chest. “Glowing green eyes?”

  
She’s panting. Her gaze drops to his lips. She can’t help herself. “But I would never betray your friendship with something so...”

  
  
“Be-tray it,” he growls, his other arm wrapping around her waist. “Be-table it. Be-throne.    
  
_  
Betrothe...   
_   
  
”   


  
His head lowers and she shivers as his breath – hot and so very close! – brushes her cheek.

  
“Alice...” he whispers.

  
  
And then    
  
_  
she    
_   
  
presses her lips to his. It doesn’t feel like a betrayal. It feels    
  
_  
beautiful.   
_   
  
Sublime. And then his lips are pressing back against hers, returning the pressure, and everything becomes so very warm and wet and she opens her mouth to him and he moans just as he had on that Pocket Watch Day only this time it’s Better because she appreciates it    
  
_  
fully   
_   
  
now and...   


  
He pulls away slowly, softening the kiss until their lips cling for a moment before parting. Other parts of him are not soft. Even through her dress, she can feel...

  
  
“What time is it?” she hears herself ask. “I want to    
  
_  
Know   
_   
  
...”   


  
  
He doesn’t reach for his pocket watch. His eyes narrow and his gaze    
  
_  
devours    
_   
  
her. “Alice... what would I have to do for you to consider lending me your... thoughts for an unspecified length of time?”   


  
She presses closer to him, releases her diary to his care and grabs the lapels of his jacket. “Keep them in as good of condition as they were when I lent them to you.”

  
Without looking away from her, he sets the book aside on the cluttered worktable and raises a hand to her face, traces the line of her jaw up to her ear and then his fingers burrow deeply into her hair.

  
“Gladly.”

 

The End


End file.
